


We are Full of Stories to be Told

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arthur Returns, Farmer!Arthur, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Post-Finale, Reincarnation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2372462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur is the farmer driving the blue truck, who stops the truck and backtracks when he realizes exactly who he just drove past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I came across the farmer!Arthur tumblr post on my dash this morning and thought, hey, what the hell; let's post this thing. 
> 
> I wrote this ages ago. The first chapter is pretty much a direct response to/interpretation of the farmer!Arthur post (brolinbutts.tumblr.com/post/73989399297/merlin-willcome-withme), while the second chapter is more my descent into shmoopy, Bastille's-Laughter-Lines-inspired madness. Er, there may also be references to The Notebook in the second chapter.
> 
> ... the fic is a bit of a clusterfuck, to be honest, but I like how it turned out. Enjoy!

Merlin walks on, the rain feebly rolling down his face into his beard. He’s considered going back to his youthful form, but it doesn’t seem right just yet. He hasn’t felt an internal _ping_ , the cue from nature that it’s time to start anew. So he keeps walking, his grip tight on the strap of his messenger-bag as he circles around the lake for the millionth time. A truck speeds by and Merlin doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t know what it’s like to die, but he’s wanted to so many times that the prospect of actually doing so doesn’t frighten him at all. He knows it can’t happen.

He pauses as he passes Glastonbury Tor once it comes into view. The weight in his chest shifts and sinks a little lower. He sighs, and keeps going.

Somewhere behind him, though, Merlin hears the truck screech to a stop. He looks over his shoulder, but nothing out of the ordinary happens. Merlin manages to take a few more steps before he hears the door open and slam shut. He tries walking faster but someone is running toward him, getting close. Merlin’s ready to use his magic to get the offender away, but when the hand falls on his shoulder and grips him tightly, he feels it – the _ping,_ the cue, the divine sign that it’s time to change again. His magic, already prepared to lash out, acts instantly. Merlin gasps as his age strips away and he transforms back into the young man that stood on the shore and watched his dearest friend drift away.

His eyes water. He blinks back the rain and starts when the man shakes him.

“ _Merlin!_ ”

Merlin blinks. He doesn’t think it’s possible but there he is. There _he_ is with damp golden hair, clad in jeans and a worn white shirt and a warm-looking cardigan.

“Arthur?” Merlin chokes out.

“You _idiot_.”

Arthur pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, not relaxing until Merlin hugs back. The moment Merlin gives in, he falls forward, clinging like a limp wet rag to Arthur. He holds on as sob after sob wrack Merlin’s thin body. He feels Arthur’s hand on the back on his head tucking his face into his shoulder, his fingers stroking the curls on the nape of his neck.

“You’re here,” Merlin sniffles. “How?”

“I drove, you idiot,” he says, grinning madly for what appears to be no reason at all.

“No, I mean _here_.”

“I was born,” Arthur says simply, his smile settling into something a little less manic.

“I – I’ve been checking the registry regularly! How did I miss—”

“Well you weren’t going to find anyone called Arthur Pendragon that way,” he snorts. “Come on. Let’s get out of the rain before we catch our deaths.”

The joke hits too close to home and they walk in heavy silence back to Arthur’s truck. Merlin climbs into the passenger seat.

“Oh! What the hell? What’s that smell?” he gasps as soon as he shuts the door.

“Produce, Merlin,” Arthur says exasperatedly, starting up the engine. He wipes some rain out of his eyes. Merlin hugs his body tightly and slides a little lower in the seat as they drive away.

“Why now?” he murmurs, watching the wide fields fly by. Merlin shuts his eyes tightly. It’s starting to feel like too much again.

“We’re almost there,” Arthur says, as though he knows just what’s on Merlin’s mind.

They pull off the main road only a couple of minutes later. Arthur drives them out into the farmland for another five minutes before pulling into a verdant plot of land with animals huddled under huge trees, a massive barn, and a house fit for at least ten people.

“Is your family’s home?” Merlin asks, taking in the tire swing hanging from the tree in front of the house.

“No,” Arthur says. “It’s just me.”

“Big house for just one person,” says Merlin.

“It was my parents’ house,” he says by way of explanation. Merlin doesn’t say anything else. Arthur parks the truck by the barn and offers Merlin an umbrella. By the time they reach the farmhouse, Merlin has mud up to his knees and the rest of his clothes are pretty much ruined. Arthur shuts the doors behind them; the silence in the house is deafening compared to the downpour outside.

Merlin stares at him. He can’t tear his eyes away.

Arthur turns around to face him. It makes Merlin weak-kneed and woozy. Arthur grabs him by the elbow and leads him into the house, ignoring Merlin’s faint protests that he’s tracking mud all over the place.

“I’ll clean it later, Merlin,” Arthur mutters as he leaves Merlin in a large armchair in a large room with hardwood floors and high sweeping ceilings. Arthur returns with an armful of wood and fresh rainwater dripping from his hair into his eyes. He kneels, legs spread, and starts piling the wood into the fireplace next to Merlin. Merlin, frozen, watches until Arthur tries to light the fire several times and fails.

Merlin puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He stops and looks up.

“Let me?”

Arthur nods and sits back. Merlin raises a hand and his eyes flash gold. The wood, now dry, catches fire. Heat permeates the space around them. Arthur stares at the flames, the range orange light dancing on his hair. A few drying strands curl away from the wetness ever so slightly. Merlin holds his breath and waits for Arthur to say something – last time he saw him do magic hadn’t gone quite so well, after all.

He looks up at Merlin with a look of pure wonder on his face.

“It’s really you,” Arthur breathes. He reaches for Merlin before visibly stopping himself. Merlin feels cold all over. He exhales a shuddering breath, exhausted from breaking down on the side of the road.

“Yeah, well. I never left.”

Arthur sobers. He crawls into the armchair across from Merlin and curls his feet under him. Merlin can’t help but _stare_ – it seems so… unlike Arthur. At least, unlike the Arthur he knew. And yet it’s very obviously _him_.

“You were born, you say?” Merlin asks. His voice sounds painfully strained. Arthur nods, turning his face toward the fire. The flickering light lines his profile.

“Michael Thompson,” Arthur says. Merlin frowns. “That’s was my name. My parents were… really lovely people. Nothing like Uther.”

“Not hard to beat genocidal when it comes to character traits,” Merlin mutters. Arthur gives him a strange smile.

“True,” he says. “I had a sister, too.”

“I’m guessing she wasn’t into fratricide.”

“No, but her name was Morgan. She was otherwise exactly like Morgana, actually,” Arthur says, getting a distant look in his eyes. Merlin is afraid to ask, but Arthur already knows what he’s wondering. “They’re all dead. My parents died a couple of years ago in a car accident. Morgan… is more complicated.”

Arthur rises. He offers Merlin a hand, which Merlin stares at because everything is terribly confusion all of a sudden.

“Get up. I’m changing out of these clothes, and so are you, unless you’d rather stay like that?” Arthur adds with a smirk, kicking lightly at Merlin’s muddy shoes.

Merlin kicks back on instinct and says, “Prat.”

Arthur absolutely _beams_ at that. Merlin takes his hand and Arthur leads him through the house.

“It’s gorgeous,” Merlin says as they climb the stairs past a long vertical panel of stained glass. “The house, I mean.”

“It is. I love it,” Arthur says as they reach the top of the stairs. Merlin tries to stop and look at some of the pictures on the wall but Arthur’s grip is vice-like as he hauls him down the hall. Arthur shoulders a door that opens onto a spacious room filled with light from outside. Three rows of skylights extend down the length of the room, and the far wall is mostly a window overlooking the rolling hills and – Merlin can’t suppress a tiny gasp.

“That’s the lake. And here—”

It looks so familiar as they stand side by side looking out at the trees and the foothills Merlin _knows_ he’s dreamed about for centuries, lying on the grass under Arthur’s dying body, crushed by his weight, his destiny. He turns to Arthur, his eyes wide and wild.

“I know,” Arthur says, moving to block Merlin’s view of the landscape. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he squeaks. Merlin clears his throat. “I used to come to this area a lot, around the anniversary of… yeah.”

“When did you stop?”

“After we hit 1900,” Merlin says, looking away. “Didn’t much see the point. People were living around here; it didn’t feel right anymore.”

“I can understand that,” Arthur says, nodding.

“Can you?”

He draws back. Arthur goes to dig up clothes out of his closet. He hands some to Merlin with a towel.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, if you want to take shower,” Arthur says. He doesn’t quite look at Merlin when he speaks now. Merlin sighs and nods.

“I’ll do that,” he says, and he makes for the door.

“Merlin,” Arthur calls after him. Merlin looks back over his shoulder. “I’ll make dinner. I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

Merlin purses his lips, struggling to hold back the emotions flooding him all of a sudden, and murmurs a faint acceptance of Arthur’s words. He ducks into the bathroom. He’s glad he manages to get the shower on before he loses control and starts sobbing uncontrollably.

By the time he’s wrung dry, he’s been under the water for a long time, and his skin is starting to hurt from the heat. Merlin dries off and realizes precisely why he feels so upset. He feels betrayed – by fate, by destiny, by everything he’s ever known. Arthur is _here_ , and he should have been there when he came back, just like Kilgarrah said. But here they are, and a good chunk of Arthur’s life has passed already without him.

Arthur is back, and Merlin always believed he would have to explain things to him, to teach him about the world, to ease him into their new reality, but it’s all wrong. Everything’s turned on its head. Merlin feels like he missed something. He missed a cue, and that’s why they’ve found each other twenty-something years late.

Perhaps they’ve failed Albion already.

The mirror cracks. Merlin starts out of his thoughts. He stares at his shattered reflection before righting it with his magic. He dresses quickly and hopes desperately that Arthur didn’t hear the mirror.

He finds Arthur downstairs, clean and showered as well, sitting at the kitchen table with a worn book before him and a few stray yellow pages scattered around him.

“Ah. Take a seat. The pasta’s almost ready,” Arthur says, kicking a chair out next to him. Merlin slides into the space.

“What’s that?” he asks, nodding at the book.

“I thought you might want to see,” Arthur says. He pushes the book toward Merlin and then edges his chair a little closer.

It’s a photo album – Merlin didn’t think many people still had those, given modern technology – full of faces Merlin hasn’t seen in centuries. Gwen is there, though she can’t be older than seven, her curly hair like a bush around her face; she’s missing one of her front teeth, and a tiny Arthur – no, Michael, apparently – is pointing at the gap excitedly. On the next pages Gwen makes many appearances, though increasingly with Morgan rather than Arthur as they grow older. When they reach their teens, they have their arms around each other’s waists as they stand on the shores of Avalon and bask in a colorful sunset’s glow.

“Were they…?” Merlin asks. His voice comes out harsh and uneven.

“Yeah. She’s called Marie these days,” says Arthur. “She’s just as kind and good as Guinevere was in Camelot. She made Morgan – and Morgana – a better person.”

“What happened?” Merlin asks. Arthur looks up from the book. It’s a heavy question that hangs between them.

“It’s a long story,” he starts. A timer goes off in the kitchen. Arthur shoots him an apologetic look and goes to get the food. Merlin is lost in thought when Arthur returns. He jumps when Arthur touches his shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Well, no. You’re here, after god knows how many hundreds of years,” Merlin says. He expects Arthur to be shocked and horrified, but he isn’t. He becomes morose and something twists his lips.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I truly am. I wish you hadn’t had to suffer for so long,” he says quietly.

“How did you know?”

“Eat, and I’ll tell you. You’re as skinny as ever.”

Merlin snorts and, for once, does as Arthur says. He gets through a few mouthfuls of pasta – apparently this Arthur knows how to cook pretty damn well – before Arthur starts to talk.

“Morgan had dreams of Camelot, and I had visions. Our parents thought we were both mad, but they did everything they could to help us,” Arthur says. He unfolds and folds his napkin. “It started when we were six or so, around when we met Marie, actually. Perhaps she triggered the memories? I don’t know. But I started seeing things that weren’t there… like daydreams, but stronger. I couldn’t stop them. Morgan and I saw a lot of the same things. It was like a game for us for so many years, seeing who saw what first.

“When it didn’t go away when we hit fourteen or so, our parents took us to be evaluated. We wanted to go,” Arthur adds. “We asked them. The visions and the dreams were worse, all of a sudden. Morgan… changed. I found out later that she started seeing herself trying to kill me, our father, Marie, and it terrified and disturbed her. She was a gentle person. She didn’t understand how she could imagine doing these things to people she loved.”

Merlin nods.

“Sounds like Morgana when I first met her,” he says.

“Yeah. She was still scared, though, of what the dreams showed her,” Arthur continues. “The physicians decided to put her on a mild antidepressant, which helped for a while.”

He turns a page in the album. Merlin sees a large image of Arthur, Gwen, and Morgana standing before the ruins of Camelot. Merlin’s visited the site a few times, but he’s always done his best to stay away.

“We went there when we graduated secondary right before we all left for uni,” Arthur explains. “My visions hadn’t stopped, and Morgana was doing better, but she hardly ever slept…,” he shakes his head. “We should never have gone there.”

“You remembered,” realizes Merlin.

“We realized everything we’d been seeing actually happened,” Arthur says. “Not that we told each other this. Marie was the one who told me about Morgan, and then….”

He stops. Merlin grabs his hand and holds it on the table. Arthur looks at him curiously before saying,

“She went mad, just like last time. She remembered who she was, and all the things she’d done and wanted to do, but she still felt the love for all of us she had in this life. The last time I saw her, she said polarity of it tore her apart from the inside out,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I looked at her and told her to forgive Morgana and let her go.”

“I take it she didn’t.”

“No. After I told her that I – Arthur, not Michael – forgave her, Morgana, she lost it. I was thrown out of the psych ward where she was staying,” says Arthur. His hand tenses and shakes. Merlin tries to stroke his wrist soothingly, but it doesn’t seem to help. “God. She killed herself a few days later.”

Arthur raises his other shaking hand to his face and wipes tears away. Merlin doesn’t know what to say. He keeps holding is hand, stroking the soft skin of his wrist, until Merlin feels Arthur’s pulse start to settle down. He relaxes his grip on Arthur but he doesn’t let him go.

“It was only two years ago,” says Arthur. “Those were eight years of watching her suffer.”

“Arthur….”

“It’s okay, Merlin. I’ve dealt with it.”

“You can still be sad about loss,” says Merlin, “even if you’ve accepted it.”

Arthur meets his eye then. Merlin can’t believe he forgot how bright the blue of Arthur’s eyes is; everything about Camelot has fallen into fuzzy grayscale in his memory.

“You are the expert on these things,” Arthur finally says. “Merlin, the visions… they didn’t show me my life only. I saw you, too. I saw your life in Camelot. All of it.”

“Then there’s nothing for me to explain.”

“Not really,” he says with a wry smile. “I’ve seen it all. The visions were so strong, I could almost feel what it was like to fly on the back of a dragon.”

“You did, at the end,” Merlin says.

“Yes. I do remember that,” Arthur says. He finally withdraws his hand from Merlin’s.

“So… you live here, alone?” Merlin asks. “Why no family, no wife or girlfriend?”

“I’d prefer a husband, or boyfriend,” Arthur corrects. Merlin chokes on a mouthful of wine. He grins. “That’s not to say I didn’t love Guinevere with all my heart. This is nothing new. It just wasn’t something to act on or consider seriously then, not as a king. Modernity is kinder.”

“It is,” Merlin sputters. “It really is.”

“You know, I’m glad I finally know you and Gwaine slept together back in Camelot,” Arthur says casually. Merlin chokes on the wine again. “Guinevere and I used to go back and forth for ages about it. Turns out I was right.”

Merlin gapes at him. He knows he’s flushed bright red now. Arthur laughs hugely at the sight of him.

“I can’t believe you saw that,” Merlin says, mortified.

“I saw more than I needed to,” Arthur says. He grins mischievously at Merlin and takes his empty plate away. Merlin follows Arthur to the kitchen. It’s large and rustic with brassy cabinet handles and dark wood and an exposed brick wall, but the appliances are sleek and modern.

“I live on the other side of the lake, you know,” Merlin says, leaning his hip against the counter. Arthur rinses the dishes off in the sink. “We’ve been missing each other for a long time.”

“Do you want to go back, then?” Arthur asks, scrubbing the pot heartily.

“No!” Merlin exclaims. Arthur looks up at him, a strange look in his eye. “No. I mean. No. I want to stay. Will you allow me to stay?”

“Yeah. Absolutely,” Arthur says with a soft smile. He hands Merlin a dishcloth and they get to work.

Later, after everything is clean and they’ve exchanged a few quiet words here and there, Arthur asks him about his life.

“ _That’s_ a long story,” Merlin says, adjusting his grip on the mug of hot cocoa. They’re sitting by the fire again.

“Come on, Merlin. Help me understand. Gwaine? _Really?_ ”

Merlin groans.

“Let it go, Arthur,” says Merlin. He pauses. “Or… what shall I call you? Do you prefer Michael now?”

“No,” Arthur says, surprised. “Look, I’m still Arthur. I always was. Whatever my parents named me isn’t actually who I am. I’m still me.”

“A royal prat, then?”

“Not royal,” Arthur chuckles. “Just a simple farmer now.”

“Not sure I buy that,” says Merlin, wrinkling his nose. “You’ve probably got servants hidden away in the basement who do all the work for you.”

Arthur laughs. “I’ll show you, when the rain lets up,” he says, grinning hugely.

“I’d like that,” Merlin says, mirroring his smile. “Really.”

“Good,” says Arthur. He nudges Merlin’s leg with his foot. “Go on. Your turn to tell me stories. Entertain me.”

“Oi! I don’t have to listen to a word you say,” Merlin teases.

“Please?” Arthur pouts. Merlin shakes his head and holds back a laugh.

“There’s nothing…,” Merlin trails off when Arthur gives him a withering look. “Oh, fine.”

It’s late at night, closer to morning, when Merlin’s finally exhausted Arthur with his stories. They’re curled up on the floor, side by side, in a nest of blankets by the fading fire. Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s solid shoulder and breathes in the clean scent of his shirt.

“Let’s go to bed,” Arthur says softly, prodding Merlin’s leg. He shifts the blankets around and tries to ease away from Merlin, but he refuses to move. Arthur is warm and soft and comfortable; Merlin doesn’t want to give that up just yet. “Merlin. Get up.”

“No,” he mumbles.

He promptly finds himself facedown on the floor. Arthur pulls the blankets out from under him so quickly that he flips Merlin onto his back. Merlin scowls up at Arthur’s flushed, laughing face.

“Not funny,” he says, rising slowly. His body is exhausted.

“Oh, I think it is.”

“Arse,” Merlin mutters. Arthur grins even more widely. He throws the blankets on the chair. They go upstairs in silence. Inexplicably Merlin’s heart pounds in his chest.

Arthur moves toward his door. He pauses, opens his mouth to speak, but he meets Merlin’s eye and seems to change his mind about what he wants to say.

“Will you stay with me?”

Arthur’s face lights up when he nods in response. Smiling to himself, Merlin follows him in and closes the door quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the inordinate amounts of shmoop, and for silly boys referencing The Notebook.

Merlin wakes to the sun in his eyes. He wonders if he fell asleep outside, but he knows there wouldn’t be a huge bed beneath him if that were the case, nor would there be someone beside him. Merlin turns his head and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of Arthur sleeping peacefully beside him, his arm suddenly a very present weight on Merlin’s chest.

He slides out of the bed and pads into the hall. The floor is cold under his bare feet. He wraps his arms around his waist and descends into the house. It seems so much airier in the daylight. Merlin goes right to the kitchen and sets about making breakfast for them. By the time he hears Arthur coming down the stairs, he’s made some of the best damn omelets he’s ever made, thanks to Arthur having the freshest food Merlin’s seen in ages. He’s attempting to flip a pancake when Arthur speaks from the doorway and startles him.

“Aren’t you supposed to make breakfast _after_ you’ve had sex?”

Merlin nearly drops the pan.

“Excuse me?” he sputters. Arthur laughs and crosses the room, his sweats hanging low on his hips. Merlin blushes furiously. “What sort of slag do you take me for?”

“Slag? Never,” he smirks, “though considering how often you met Gwaine in the stables… I’m scarred for life, Merlin.”

“Fuck off,” he says with a good-natured laugh. “It’s not like I had much time to seek out other partners. You worked me ragged.”

“Is that why you complained so much? You weren’t getting laid enough?” Arthur says, leaning against the counter. Merlin rolls his eyes and pours the last of the batter into the pan.

“Maybe, _Arthur_ , I’m just being nice and making food. No sex necessary for that.”

“Maybe, _Mer_ lin, that’s not what I meant,” Arthur says, inching closer. Merlin glares at Arthur and flips the pancake perfectly. Arthur’s eyes widen and he clears his throat.

“I’m impressed.”

Arthur withdraws. Something in his belly uncoils and Merlin feels like he can breathe again. He finishes up with the food and goes to the table where Arthur’s set the plates and some juice. They eat in easy silence, listening to birds chirping away outside. Storm clouds gather on the horizon, edging over the forest directly before of the kitchen windows.

“You’re lucky it’s my day off,” Arthur says, pausing to finish off his glass of milk. “We got to sleep in.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Merlin says.

“I usually get up much earlier. Farm, remember?”

“Will you show it to me?”

Arthur lights up. “Of course. Let’s go now, before it starts to rain again.”

He practically bounces all the way back to the kitchen. They load the dirty dishes and cookware into the dishwasher. Arthur changes into clothes that have seen better days but look terribly soft and comfortable. He gives some things to Merlin to wear, too, and he wrestles Merlin into one of his coats and some tall boots. The moment they step outside Arthur seems to grow ten feet, inhaling the fresh air, kicking through the dewy, muddy grass out to the barn.

They feed the animals in the barn first, then go out to set the horses and sheep free. Arthur tells him he only keeps the horses because he loves to ride them.

“That hasn’t changed, then,” Merlin retorts.

“Have you gotten any better or are you still a hopeless rider?”

“No, I’m better. I was a messenger in one of the wars; I had to ride all the time,” Merlin says, running his hand over the dark brown flank of one particularly beautiful horse. Arthur nuzzles the horse’s face so gently and tenderly Merlin can’t help the tiny sound that escapes his throat.

“Necessity doesn’t make it fun,” Arthur says.

“Fun? The only fun I remember you ever having was in kicking me around,” Merlin says, “and hunting.”

“God, no. That’s not it anymore. I don’t kill these animals. I get their eggs, milk, the sheep’s wool, but I don’t let them die. I sell them when I’m low on funds, but….”

“I get it,” Merlin says softly, touching Arthur’s shoulder. “Can we ride?”

“Best way to see the land, if you ask me. Saddle up,” he says, throwing a saddle at Merlin.

Merlin takes the dark brown horse while Arthur mounts a black stallion, a proper beast of an animal. It’s beautiful. They ride calmly for a while, Arthur leading him through the fields with vegetables in various states of growth and ripeness. He tells Merlin how he goes into Glastonbury every weekend with fresh produce to sell at the green market, while the rest of the time he sells his produce and dairy products to small businesses around the area.

“That’s incredible,” Merlin says when he’s finished.

“It’s not, really. My parents started it. I’m just doing what they taught me.”

“What did you study at school, then?”

“Economics and Literature.”

“Read some of those stories they wrote about us, did you?” Merlin grinned.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, frowning. “That Chretien fellow made me seem useless!”

Merlin laughs loudly, startling a few birds out of a nearby tree. Arthur scowls at him, but he sees the smile underneath it all.

“He didn’t exactly have to work hard to make you seem it, but—”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Arthur sets off at a gallop, and Merlin has no choice but to follow him. They ride to the hilly parts of the land again. Merlin can see the tip of the Tor over the trees. He recognizes the hill as the area where he killed Morgana, and the clearing at the bottom as the spot where Arthur forgave Merlin for ten years of betrayal. There’s a stump on that spot. Merlin starts to smile and rides to where Arthur awaits.

“Took you long enough,” he says when Merlin arrives.

“Got distracted. Why are we here?”

“The tree used to be our favorite,” Arthur says. “I adored it, ‘til they took it down.”

“When did they cut the tree down?”

“Ages ago. I was pretty young. Maybe six?” Arthur replies.

“I planted it here,” Merlin admits, sitting on the smooth wood. His magic lights up on contact and Merlin closes his eyes. “A while before I decided to stop coming here, I started feeling a shift in the magic in the earth. I was trying to understand it, and I … did _something_ , I don’t know what. It was like planting a seed, I guess, but it was of magic. A tree grew in that spot. Maybe that’s why I stopped coming here. Part of my magic was rooted on the spot anyway.”

“Merlin….”

He looks back at Arthur, who suddenly looks like Merlin’s taken all the air out of his lungs.

“When my parents had the tree taken down – that’s around when my visions started, and when Morgana got her dreams!” Arthur says. He runs his hand through his hair as thunder claps loudly around them.

“I thought you said it was when you met Gwen?”

“Yes, but it was the same time! I thought – no, this has to be it. It makes the most sense.”

He drops onto the stump and turns to him. Arthur grips Merlin’s shoulders.

“It was still you. You found us anyway, even if you weren’t physically here.”

Merlin stares at Arthur.

“I – No. I failed, didn’t I? Isn’t that the point? That I’ve never gotten to you in time?” Merlin says slowly.

“No, you idiot! _You’re_ the point! I mean – your magic started us remembering our real selves,” Arthur says insistently. His eyes are bright bordering on feverish, his grip on Merlin’s shoulders strong and making Merlin curiously dizzy.

“I’m not the point, Arthur,” Merlin frowns. “Whatever the point is, we haven’t found it yet. We’re supposed to help Albion, now that we’re both here.”

“Okay, fine, but that’s not what I’m trying to say!”

“Say it, then!”

Arthur tightens his hold on Merlin’s shoulders and pulls him in, crushing his lips against Merlin’s. He makes a noise in surprise, then a louder one when it starts to pour around them. He gasps at the cold, and Arthur takes the chance to work his tongue into Merlin’s mouth.

He can’t. No. Merlin shudders and kisses back with all his might. There’s no use fighting it any longer, not after over a thousand years of pretending. Modernity is kinder, after all.

Merlin works his hands into Arthur’s hair, running them down his neck to the muscles on his shoulders. He dips one lower, grappling under Arthur’s shirt to get at the skin underneath. Arthur laughs and recoils.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re cold.”

Merlin huffs a laugh. “No shit. It’s nine Centigrade out.”

He leans in to kiss again, but the rain is picking up. Arthur drags Merlin to his feet and to the horses. They wordlessly ride back to the stables and run into the house. They’re dripping from head to foot by the time Arthur closes the door behind them. It’s exactly like when they arrived yesterday, Merlin realizes: he’s drenched, coated in mud, and incapable of taking his eyes off Arthur.

Obviously the major difference is evident when Arthur turns around. He doesn’t wait to take Merlin’s face in hand and kiss him soundly. He backs him into the house. They divest their clothes as they go, leaving a trail of mud all the way to the living room. Some of the blankets are still on the floor. Merlin pulls away, mourning the loss of Arthur’s hands on his back, his fingers leaving hot trails on his skin all the way down. He deposits the rest of the blankets on the ground, and Arthur throws down a few pillows. Merlin sets the fireplace alight at full strength.

“Oh, god,” Merlin realizes in horror. “This is like that scene in _The Notebook_.”

“No swans, though,” Arthur points out.

“True.”

They kiss and kiss, fitting their bodies together on the floor in as many ways as they can, finding that the next is just as perfect as the last. Merlin’s never felt quite like this; he’s never realized the absence of Arthur in him quite like this before. Now, though, he feels whole, more whole than Merlin’s ever managed on his own. He feels _alive_.

Arthur kisses his way down Merlin’s front. He runs his fingers through Arthur’s hair, grips tighter when he takes Merlin in his mouth and sucks. Merlin tries not to buck, but it’s almost impossible. He lets out a sob of pleasure and strain. Arthur grabs his hips and holds him down.

“God, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs when he pulls off to mouth at the base of his cock. He worships Merlin’s hips, leaves trails of wet kisses down the insides of his thighs while he vaguely strokes Merlin’s hard length. “I always – I _knew_ I’d see you again.”

“Arthur,” Merlin moans when he takes him in his mouth again. “I won’t last much longer.”

He hums, looking up at Merlin for a moment, and that’s it. He comes hard down Arthur’s throat, the whole room blacking out. His body’s still shaking when he can see again. Arthur’s kissing his collarbones, working his way to his neck, murmuring words that must be lovely, but Merlin isn’t anywhere near coherent.

He feels the weight of Arthur’s cock between them. Merlin reaches and grips him. Arthur gasps and stops in the middle of sucking a bruise on his neck. He works him gently at first, teasing his thumb over the leaking head, before setting a harsher, faster pace. Arthur drops his head to Merlin’s shoulder and digs his fingers into Merlin’s flank. He pushes Arthur’s hair out of his eyes with his free hand.

“I love you, you prat,” Merlin says.

He comes undone instantly. He bites down on Merlin’s collarbone, sending sparks of pleasure through Merlin’s sated body. Arthur slowly catches his breath, his weight settling heavily on Merlin. The heat of the fire feels good, now that they’ve started to cool down. Merlin takes the corner of a blanket and cleans them off. Arthur slides off to the side and wraps an arm around Merlin, snuggling into his side.

“So you’ve seen _The Notebook_ , Arthur?” Merlin teases, running his fingers down Arthur’s side where he knows is particularly ticklish.  

“Quit it,” Arthur says sleepily, swatting Merlin’s hand away. “Who hasn’t seen it?”

“A lot of people,” he laughs. “You knew exactly which scene I meant, too.”

“Alright, fine. Morgan loved that damn movie when it came out. She made me watch it over and over, even if the sex bits were awkward.”

Merlin hums. He doesn’t quite know what to say to that. The last thing he wants is Arthur going back into mourning over his sister.

“Arthur,” Merlin says gently after they’ve dozed comfortably for a long while. “What are we doing?”

“Hmm?”

“This. Us. We… we never were like _this_ in Camelot.”

“No,” Arthur says, propping his chin up on Merlin’s arm and looking at him. “We’re not in Camelot, though. We’re here and we can do whatever we wish, whatever makes us happy.”

“Does this make you happy?” Merlin asks.

“I think so.”

“It’s not… it won’t be easy, you know. We’re quite a pair, me being immortal, you being the Once and Future King and all,” Merlin says, “and we’ve got this destiny to work out together. Are we sure we want to do _this_ on top of all that?”

Arthur watches Merlin as he speaks, his blue eyes reflecting the orange firelight so that he almost looks like magic. Merlin’s breath catches in his throat at the end of his ramblings. Arthur tilts his head and smiles. He sits up, waiting for Merlin to do the same. Arthur leans in and kisses him softly. He pulls away and cups his jaw, thumbing at the tender bruise he left before.

“You know, we're going have to work at this everyday,” Arthur says, his smile brightening with every word, “but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, everyday.”

Merlin bites his lip, barely able to contain the laughter in his chest. He grins so hugely his face hurts.

“Did you really just quote that at me?”

“I meant every word,” Arthur says, feigning hurt.

He kisses Arthur soundly, hoping to show all the promise and hope he feels in that moment, murmuring, “You are, and always have been, my dream.”


End file.
